Let The World Fall Apart
by Nutty.Chameleon
Summary: When things get too hard to cope with in the life of an immortal, Merlin sometimes drowns himself in the Lake of Avalon, just for a chance to hear his voice or feel his arms around him once more. He has to, because he has no choice. Arthur broke his promise, Arthur never rose again. Merlin needs him. (T for multiple suicide attempts)


**Hello there! This is my first finished Merlin fic. It's just a short one-shot that needed to be written, especially after the finale. This will not cheer you up.**

**Title:** Let The World Fall Apart  
**Summary: **When things get too hard to cope with in the life of an immortal, Merlin sometimes drowns himself in the Lake of Avalon, just for a chance to hear his voice or feel his arms around him once more. Arthur never rose.  
**Words: **1,405

**I do not own Merlin, any of the characters, of any of the actual plot. I own next to nothing. Because, if I did own it, there would be a lot more hurt/comfort and slash. It belongs to the BBC and Shine!**

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The first time he did it was at the fall of Camelot. He was sure that Albion needed him, because Albion needed Camelot.

Camelot was important to Albion.

Wasn't it?

But no, Camelot fell to the Normans, and Merlin was all but helpless to stop it. There was no sign of Arthur.

Merlin stood at the edge of the lake, his lake of love and loss, one filled with bitter memories and even greater hope for a better future. But a man could only wait so long.

He waded into the lake, assured no one would stop him. No one could stop him. No one knew him. Everyone he had known fell to the passing of time long before.

When the water became much too deep to wade, he began to swim, until he could no long see the bottom, and he allowed his limbs to still.

He bowed his head, sinking into the water, not resisting as he let the lake water flood in through his mouth and into his lungs. The burn of it almost made him want to try to force his way back to the surface, to gulp the life-giving air his body longed for, but he didn't. In fact, he appreciated the feeling of pain that filled the emptiness which has resided in him for so very long. It almost made him feel alive. Almost.

As the darkness of unconsciousness enveloped him, he liked to think the he felt strong, familiar arms wrap around him, but all went black before he could ponder any further than the most basic thought-

_'His arms are warm_.'

Maybe he was actually going to die. He hoped so. He knew subconsciously that it would never be this easy.

He was proved right when he woke up, alone and cold and empty and disappointed, at the edge of the Lake of Avalon, alive and most definitely not wrapped in the arms that he was sure he imagined to ease his suffering.

He sighed brokenly, before making his way back to the small cabin he had built in the forest some years ago. He spent a week staring blankly at his unlit fireplace.

The second time he did it, was after the first World War. It had been over a millennium since the passing of the Once and Future King.

It was December, 1918, and he was kneeling waist deep in the freezing lake. He was positive this was when Arthur was needed. He even risked getting his hopes up, rekindling the small ember that has all but died in the centuries he had waited. The entire world, or at least all that had counted, were fighting. It was a seemingly endless conflict.

Was it so bad of him, he wondered, that he hoped it had been endless? A never-ending fight. To last eternity, never-changing or wavering, just like him?

But that wasn't necessary true. He had changed. He was out by destiny, emptied of all which made him _him_, stripped of what he once was and would never be again.

But the war had ended, leaving him blank and empty and _ruined_, knowing that he had waited in vain. If a war throughout the world was not enough to awaken his other half, what was?

Merlin was beginning to feel his age. He had forgotten what Camelot looked like, what Guinevere looked like, the Knights of the Round Table or the physician he had seen as a father or the dragon that had lived beneath Camelot (_but did it? He didn't remember. Sometimes when the thought of the flying beast it was in a large cave, other times in a clearing in a forest. Lost times, forgotten times. Maybe the dragon wasn't real. Maybe he wasn't real_.)- but worst of all, he couldn't remember what Arthur Pendragon looked like.

He knew he was golden, and strong and brave, and that he would rise again one day. But that was it. The years ate away at Merlin's mind.

Merlin was positive that if the legends didn't exist, he would have forgotten their names as well.

The immortal let himself fall face-first into the chilling water of the lake. It may have been only waist-deep, but it was enough to drown a man, as Merlin well knew.

He kept his eyes open, barely registering the biting sting of ice water against his sensitive eyes. He noted the rush of water down the back of his throat, but not felt. He didn't feel much of anything these days. Even the wicked loneliness had been warred off with years of persistence.

He felt light headed, and was almost sure that the voice he heard was real.

_"What am I going to do with you, Merlin?"_

He didn't hear it as much as feel it. A tug at the back of his mind, a small ripple through his magic, the words swimming around his head as he allowed the water to swallow him in the peaceful, inky blackness of sleep.

He pretended he didn't know what would happen next, but couldn't bring himself to be even slightly surprised when he woke up, on shore, once again.

He spent one month meditating, carefully examining the words he had felt with fragile fascination.

The third time was after Aithusa died.

He had never been close to the young dragon, had not seen her since he ordered her away in the battle of Camlann- _(did he remember that? Was that real? Or did he tell the dragon to attack? Did he kill Arthur? Did Arthur kill him? Why was he bound to a dragon?)_- but he knew she lived. Their souls had been connected, and he always instinctively knew that she was there, somewhere, but couldn't for the life of him remember how.

So, when the small light that he never noticed until it was gone vanished, he suddenly felt much, much heavier. Like he could sink.

That's what he intended to do.

He rowed a small, wooden boat to the centre of the lake, far enough away from the small island, and set it alight with a match. He was small enough to have doused the wood in petrol beforehand, so it would ignite all the quicker.

The fire was hot. It was melting his skin and his eyes and his hair and his bones. Maybe if he was ashes first, Arthur wouldn't have anything to grab, and he could stay in the Lake.

He pondered what Arthur might say to him when they meet once more. He doubted that he would care.

So, on his self-made pyre, he let his burnt, melted, agony-filled corpse sink into the lake. He wasn't dead. He could feel every moment, even though he should be long dead. Maybe he was destined to spend the rest of his life was a pain infested, but still aware, corpse at the bottom of a lake. Maybe that's what Arthur was.

He didn't want to live like this anymore.

The water didn't have anywhere to rush to, but he still felt himself falling back into the dreamless dark. Using a small burst of magic, he resonated his thoughts out into the lake for all who were near to hear.

_'Stop being selfish. Let me have this. Let me sleep. I'm tired.'_

Needless to say, nobody heard.

Merlin woke up, naked and wet, his bottom half still being kissed by the lapping waves of the Lake of Avalon.

The year was 2013 of the Imperial calendar.

A war-like alien species from another world had taken an interest in Earth. They were exterminating the human race as if they were vermin to be sprayed with insecticide.

Merlin kept his vigil over the lake.

The human race was all but wiped out.

The Once and Future King never returned in Albion's time of need.

This was the last time Merlin attempted to reach his King. It wasn't his choice, any way.

The alien grabbed him by the back of his neck, it's scaly, lizard-like hands forcing the warlock's head under the waters of Avalon. He didn't struggle, it would be no use. It was the end of the world.

But this time, it was different. Instead of being forced into sleep, everything started to turn white. He saw those lost, once familiar hands, reach up through the water...

And they _dragged him down._

Merlin never woke again.

**-End.**

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**I'm sorry.**

**I initially was going to end it with Arthur coming back to comforting Merlin.. but no. It took a much more darker route. You're welcome.**

**Reviews are the reason my heart continues to beat! But a dear, and keep me alive another day?**


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